


jacob's ladder

by Kalael



Series: string figures [1]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Compulsion, Do Not Archive, Jon is just a trainwreck, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Sexual Content, Tim is a bisexual trainwreck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-19
Updated: 2018-02-23
Packaged: 2019-03-21 05:45:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13734408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalael/pseuds/Kalael
Summary: Elias plays the archivists like a self-made harp, Tim resents everything, and Jonathan just wants to do his damn job.The Magnus Archives Pairing week, days 1-3.





	1. unstructured

**Author's Note:**

> I stumbled across the Piles Of Nonsense tumblr post regarding the TMA pairing week and got _very_ excited.

Tim had never been the ignorant sort. He’d feigned stupidity, of course, but it was unusual for him to miss even the most minute details when he’d been looking for them. So the first time he had interviewed with Elias Bouchard for a research position at the Magnus Institute he had been struck by two things; the first being that Elias was entirely too aware of people’s personal lives, and the second was that Elias had to be far older than he looked. 

His time working for the institute had done little to dissuade him of those observations. Truly, it had only strengthened them. Through paranormal attacks and murder confessions, Tim stubbornly held to those beliefs. What sort of psychopath had a full head of ungreying hair and straight, pearly white teeth that smiled while recounting exactly what you ate for breakfast that morning? Something inhuman and supernatural, for sure. There was a reason Tim never suspected the damn man. Granted, a lot of Elias’ less pleasant quirks had only surfaced once Tim began antagonising the man with whatever small rebellions he could manage. 

Elias responded in kind, though Tim got the distinct impression that he was being toyed with. After a three day holiday turned intentionally into five, Tim returned home to find a handwritten account of his private post-Prentiss night terror routine in an envelope taped to his front door. No one would have known half the things in that letter unless they had some serious surveillance on his flat, and even Jon’s paranoid stalking hadn’t gotten that far. The culprit was obvious. The details in Elias’ notes were incredibly specific, and entirely too intimate.

It wasn’t as though Tim needed the reminder of where he belonged, anyway. He was forced to resign to the archives no matter what he did, and he’d always have to return regardless of Elias’ creative threats. The new routine wasn’t exactly comfortable, but at least some things could be relied upon. Jon would be cloistered away in his office like some warmongering nun armed with the statements of the semi-sane masses. Martin was invisible between the rows of files. Melanie spent most hours tucked away in the library upstairs, nose buried into books and her hand perpetually on her camera phone. So mostly it was just Tim and the unending frustration of follow up after follow up.

Except now Tim kept finding accounts of his own personal life settled between actual work files, and it was incredibly unnerving. It wasn’t Jon leaving those papers. It _definitely_ wasn’t Jon, who had taken great pains to be less of a creep since his return. The only logical conclusion was Elias.

Tim actually wasn’t sure which would have been worse.

If it were Jon, at least Tim had already been used to the paranoia. Tim did feel guilty about being convinced that Jon had committed those murders. It was a purely superficial decision, comparing Jon’s exhausted face and silver-threaded hair with Elias’ near constant perfection. Paranoid as Jon was, murderer he was not. Tim knew that for certain after interacting with the man in the weeks after his return. Jon had changed, and Tim found himself...liking the man. Against his better judgement. So really, Jon leaving the notes would have been fine, because then Tim wouldn’t have been having a crisis over that on top of having Actual Murderer Elias Bouchard leaving said notes like some sort of fucked up candy trail. It was hardly something Tim knew how to deal with. A gangly archivist feeling paranoid in a place where they were always being watched was easy enough to handle, but a pretty man working for an all-seeing evil god that granted him the power to watch them all in their homes? 

Tim retaliated the only way he knew how. He could only take so many extended ‘sick’ days before the illness became real though. Elias knew that much.

“I hate this.” He announced during one of his latest absentee streaks, standing in the middle of his tiny kitchen in his tiny flat. He was out of sliced turkey and he wasn’t even sure if he wanted to eat meat anymore anyway. Half the bread was moldy because he could barely stand to eat even when he was within the archives after his last escape attempt. All of it was complete bullshit and he _hated it_.

There was a knock at his door. Tim stared at his sink, full of dishes, then at the half-moldy loaf in his hands. Fuck it. He threw the loaf into the sink because he wasn’t too keen on entertaining this specific guest, and when he opened the door Tim was entirely unsurprised to see Elias there with two take away bags filled with gyros from down the street.

“Hungry?” Elias asked, like he hadn’t been fucking watching. He looked unaged and unperturbed and entirely unnatural. Tim barked out something between a laugh and a sob, then yanked Elias through the door by the lapels of his stupid designer coat hard enough that Elias actually dropped the take away bags. Before Tim could really think about it he was kissing Elias firmly on the mouth, taking whatever he would give and regaining whatever semblance of control Tim could manage to grasp onto.

He hated it. He hated the institute, the archives, Elias, and the fact that Elias was unbuttoning Tim’s shirt like it was some kind of _indulgence_ , like he was granting Tim some boon. Maybe it was like that, an older man giving in to the petulant rebel. The image set his teeth on edge and Tim bit into Elias' jaw, earning him a rough hand tugging the hair at the nape of his neck.

Maybe that was the only way Tim knew how to cope; kiss it until it stopped aching. 

He hated that he wondered what Jon would do in that moment, how Jon would react to being kissed in the doorway. Whether Jon would laugh or shake or cry or all fucking three.

He _especially_ hated the way Elias laughed knowingly at his thoughts, and Tim resolved to silence the man if only to make him human enough to stomach.


	2. undone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> someday I'll learn to stop writing when I'm drunk. Had to go back and edit the last chapter quite a bit, just wanted to give you a heads up that you'll want to reread that first. I have a feeling I'll be doing more editing as I finish up the last chapter but the plot won't be affected, just certain threads of continuity in the writing style.

Tim’s not in the habit of lying to himself, but in this case he’d be happy to make the exception. After a year of dogging Jon for being a socially inept stalker and possible murderer, he’s not exactly keen on having those safety nets flipped around to dump him out. So despite his continued guilt over the whole thing, Tim refuses to change his attitude towards the prick any more than necessary.

Except it’s proving increasingly difficult to do so. Between Elias’ harassment and the ever-present threat of violent murder, Jon is the most stable thing in the archives. It’s stupid and it drives Tim utterly mad, but the sight of Jon’s hunched figure pouring over statements in the head archivist’s office has taken a nearly soothing effect. He wants to blame the influence of this fucking building, except he doubts whatever supernatural thing is lording over them all actually cares whether or not Tim wants to kiss his boss. Well, he’s already kissed Elias and then some. But Jon is blissfully unaware of Tim’s confusing _feelings_ , and that much is a saving grace. He’s not so lucky with the others.

“You’re like a schoolyard bully with a crush,” Martin mutters at him one day, and Tim narrowly avoids decking the man with a file. “You realize bickering with Jon isn’t going to get him to like you more, and I know you’re tired of being such a prat.”

“Look at you, growing a spine.” Tim snaps, and Martin just shoots him a glare before vanishing into the discredited section. His stomach is twisting like he’s stuck in those corridors from so long ago, and Tim becomes aware that he feels trapped by this.

He does not like Jon, he wants to say. Except that he _does_ , and Elias has taken to thinly veiled jabs over it with the occasional, nasty compulsion if Tim pushes him too far. Tim may not like to lie to himself, but having the truth forced out of him is a special kind of hell. Not that he can go to HR over it.

“Do we even have an HR department?” Tim asks, sitting uncomfortably in Elias’ office after a brief lecture on workplace punctuality. They both know that’s just a formality. Elias has other methods to put Tim in line.

Elias smiles and asks, “How are you feeling about our dear Archivist?”

The air gets heavy when there’s a compulsion lacing through it. Tim’s gotten better at holding off now that he can recognize it, but it’s always like pins pressing behind his eyes. Elias waits patiently, hands resting gently on his desk while Tim makes faces. In the end, Tim opens his damn mouth and fumbles the words out as if his shitty crush is a goddamn _statement_.

It’s probably more than a bit messed up that he likes this traumatized Jon. A lot of it has to do with the lack of decorum, Tim admits, because Jon being stuffy and full of false bravado had been irritating all those months ago. Now Jon’s...more real. Still a bit of a freakish bastard, but an honest freakish bastard. If he’d been at all interested in Jon before this shit went down, it would have been to dismantle the pompous front Jon constantly put up. Now, Tim just wants to see Jon’s open expressions and figure out how deeply that need to experience and observe goes. How much Tim can get away with.

“You’re not so different from him, in that regard.” Elias tells him. It doesn’t make Tim feel better, and it wasn’t meant to.

“Don’t use my personal issues as emotional porn for your voyeuristic fetishes,” Tim bites out before he can stop himself. A thrill runs through him, fear and a little bit of self satisfaction. Elias eyes him with an expression Tim doesn’t want to interpret, but does anyway because he can’t _not_ see.

“There are some things I’d recommend you not test me on. Although it does take more than your current antics to raise my ire, I’m not one to back down from a challenge.” Elias’ voice has gone deeper and Tim shudders. He knows that. He also knows that he’ll keep pushing until he knows more.

“Suppose you wish that Jon would test you like this, don’t you?” Tim presses on. He’s surprised when Elias laughs and stands up, signalling that their ‘meeting’ is coming to a close.

“Oh, he’s not so compliant in this capacity. In others…” The bastard trails off because he knows that Tim’s mind will start picking apart the meaning, the possibilities.

“I think you may take the cake on cruel and unusual punishments.” Tim hisses. Elias’ soft laughter follows him out of the office, and Tim miserably hopes that whatever images come into his mind are enough to bother Elias for even a moment.

It’s unlikely. Tim resigns himself to an uncomfortable afternoon of avoiding his bosses. This resolve keeps him out of sight of Jon’s office and although Martin ribs him for it, Tim succeeds in dodging the head archivist. His resolve waivers when the work day ends though, and finds himself back in Elias’ office on his knees with a dick in his mouth. It’s not the way Tim prefers to give head, but with Elias it hardly matters what Tim wants. The pace is slow and although Elias’ fingers are gentle in his hair, Tim knows the man has an iron grip on him.

“You like to project, so I think I’ll let you see what you’re really hoping for.” It isn’t fair how Elias still manages to be such a bastard even when he’s out of breath, though not even the Head of the Magnus Institute is able to act unaffected by a blow job. Tim’s satisfaction at causing that breathy voice is short lived as Elias pushes a thought into his mind.

Jon sitting on his desk, Tim between his legs and papers everywhere. It’s enough to startle Tim into gagging on Elias’ cock, and the man laughs as he comes. When Tim leans back it’s with a scowl and an utter mess on his face.

“Come here. I’ll clean you up.” Elias is still sitting at his desk chair so Tim sullenly straightens his back, though he stays on his knees.

“You’re disgusting.” He says. Elias just hums, pleased with himself and the wreck he’s turned Tim into. There’s a box of tissues on the desk that Tim finds hard to believe is used for runny noses, but he tries not to think about it as Elias uses them to wipe the cum off his face.

“I don’t sleep with all my employees.” Elias points out as he catches Tim’s thought.

“Just the _really_ annoying ones.” It earns Tim a laugh, but there’s no denial from the man above him.

He tries not to think about how vivid the image of himself and Jon was. He knows he’s failed when Elias gives him that same, slow smile. It’s hard to lie to oneself when your unwanted Jiminy Cricket is the hellish employee of an arcane god.

“We don’t deal in lies.” Elias murmurs, throwing the tissues away once he'd finished cleaning up Tim’s face. His fingers wind themselves back into Tim’s hair, holding him. It feels stable, but in the way one would consider cement blocks for shoes _grounding_.

“Just omitting the truth.” Tim half-whispers in reply, and he closes his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this imagining Tim’s deadpan expression as he plays Tubthumping by Chumbawamba down in the Archives
> 
> I love Tim.


	3. bind

Jon’s not wearing his glasses, either too tired to keep the wire frames on his face or unable to read the papers in front of him any longer without them constantly sliding off. Tim wants to run his fingers up the bridge of Jon’s nose, vulnerable without the glasses even if the indents from the nose pieces are still there. The desire slides in like an intrusive thought which Tim stomps down, throwing a stack of police files and medical records onto Jon’s desk with a little more force than necessary. It startles Jon, who squints up at him with his nearsighted eyes although he doesn’t reach for his glasses. Too tired, then.

“You look a right mess.” Tim says, and immediately grimaces. He’s been trying to be less of an asshole first thing to Jon. It hasn’t really been working, with moments like these still too easy to fall into.

“I’m sure you’re familiar with the feeling.” Jon shoots back. They stare at each other, or at least Jon squints in Tim’s general direction, but then Jon sighs and glances down at the new papers. “What’s this, then?”

“Follow up on last week’s statement, Frederica something-Polish-something. Obsession with her boss’ strange hours?” When Jon nods Tim presses on. “It was hard to substantiate her claims with hard evidence. But considering our own work environment, I found myself sympathizing.”

“I find myself doing the same.” Jon looks so exhausted, more so than when he was being a creepy paranoid stalker, and Tim realizes with a bit of extra guilt that Jon’s been taking on more of the work so that it won’t pass onto the assistants. “Right. Thank you, Tim. I’ll look through the documents when I’ve finished with my current statement.”

“You should get lunch first. Martin is going to have that tragic puppy face if you don’t at least get yourself a sandwich.” Tim shrugs one shoulder in an attempt to look nonchalant. The effort is wasted on the head archivist.

“Elias was bringing me something, actually.” Jon says distractedly, eyes already back on the previous stack of forms. Tim feels his blood run hot and cold simultaneously. The situation is something like deja vu, and sure enough there’s a sharp rapping at the door before Elias steps in. The bastard doesn’t even try to acting subtle as he smiles at Tim. It’s one he’s garnered unfortunate familiarity with: that slow, knowing thing that has Tim’s insides twisting in a way that’s not exactly pleasant.

“Tim,” Elias greets, “here to join Jon and I for a quick lunch?”

Tim says nothing, but his stomach growls like his body has been working in tandem with Elias’ bullshit. His hand goes to his stomach before he can stop and he feels utterly betrayed by his own physical form. Of course he notices the three take away bags in Elias’ hand instead of two. Elias isn’t the sort to just bring his employees lunch for no reason; he’s definitely up to something.

“I guess,” Tim tries not to let his voice get too rough, but he’s annoyed and not really in the mood to submit kindly to being trapped like this. Elias isn’t the least bit flustered by Tim’s displeasure, which only serves to piss Tim off more. Jon is completely unaware of the mounting tension, not that Tim thinks he’d have the social graces to pretend not to notice if he did. His tired eyes are scanning pages of notes as he raises one hand in something like a greeting.

Elias says nothing more, just brushes past Tim to sit in one of the chairs across from Jon. Tim hesitates before taking the second, though he makes a show of moving the chair a few centimeters away from Elias’. It earns him an amused look and Tim’s mind brings up things best left alone while sitting in front of Jon. He busies himself with clearing off Jon’s desk. Methodically moving stacks of paper to a nearby shelf occupies his mind and protects his thoughts, however briefly, from Elias. He would note the feeling of being watched but the problem is that he _always_ feels those many eyes, it’s just that in this moment it’s a little more intense.

Elias likes fucking with him and Tim will admit he’s made himself an easy target. Jon’s still not paying attention to either of them as Elias takes several plastic containers out of the take away bags. Tim shouldn’t be surprised that it’s food from the Indian place down the street, the only one Jon and Tim can actually agree on, but he’s surprised regardless and Elias looks fucking smug.

“Jon,” Elias says, trying to catch Jon’s eye. It doesn’t work. It’s then that Tim notices Jon’s scarred knuckles are white where they’re bending on top of the desk. He’s flexing his fingers sporadically...no, he’s moving his fingers in a very intentional way, and Tim can’t make heads or tails of it. He looks to Elias, whose expression has gone something like soft. The corners of his mouth are less harsh, and the line of his back has eased. It’s unnerving so Tim looks back at Jon.

“Jon?” Tim tries. It hits him suddenly: Jon’s in Archivist mode, scrutinizing whatever is going on with that statement in front of him. And Elias, the creepy bastard, is feeling as close to affectionate as one can get about a beloved pet.

The thing that’s claimed him pulses in his blood and against his will Tim feels himself relax into his chair. His thoughts war with one another, beating against his skull as he tries to decide which action to take. Eat in silence as Jon loses himself to the Eye, or make a scene of it and pull Jon out of Elias’ trap?

It turns out to be neither, because Elias picks up on all of it and makes the decision for him.

“Jon.” Elias firmly commands. The compulsion is so thick that even Tim reacts to the name that isn’t his own. Both Jon and Tim look at Elias, and Jon’s blinking himself out of a trance.

“Alright.” Jon’s fingers stop moving in dizzying patterns, and his voice is soft as he reaches for his glasses. Tim watches the way Jon responds to compulsion like a hungry man watches a wounded thing, but he catches himself and stares down at the food Elias has set before him. His hunger should only be in one place, one pinpointed organ of his body. His stomach. Jon pushes his files to the left corner of his desk and slides the plastic tupperware towards himself.

“Enjoy.” Elias says, and it’s nearly an order. Both Jon and Tim mutter their gratitude before digging in. Of course the food is delicious. Tim pointedly refuses to look at either of his bosses while he eats. The warm potato samosas are flavorful and filling, giving Tim the perfect excuse to not say a goddamn word. This is weird. This is weird on so many different levels that Tim would think it a dream, more likely a nightmare, if not for the way Elias brushes a knee against Tim’s thigh in response to his thoughts.

Tim suspects that Elias is only there to act as an avatar of discomfort. It’s hard to gauge how Jon feels, but Tim is very aware of Elias’ presence as both an all-seeing employer and an uncomfortable sexual encounter. Tim stuffs another samosa into his mouth in order to stop thinking about it. Jon’s eating curry with saffron rice, the fragrance of it drifting through the office. It’s a bit eerie with no one saying anything while they eat, a completely different feel from the days before when Tim would get lunch with Sasha and Martin. He hides a grimace with his last samosa and lets his mind focus on the present environment. 

The silence bothers him. If he were less of a coward, less of a petty man, he would find a way to grab control of the situation from Elias’ quiet authority. As it stands Tim is only comfortable with observing. He watches the way Jon gently scoops food into his mouth with plastic utensils, licking grains of rice from the corners of his mouth. He winces as Elias bites into a papadum, like delicate bones between his teeth. Tim’s samosas were easy, no fuss and simple. Vegetable fibers have settled between his teeth and Tim contents himself with licking them out of his premolars.

His mind’s gone fuzzy. Not in a way that can’t focus, because he’s seeing everything with perfect clarity. Tim feels like his eyes have sharpened, literal knives in his head. He thinks it’s because he’s in the same room as Elias and Jon, and that their weird energies have had an affect on him. Tim should hate it, but he feels a sort of numb acceptance instead.

The truth of Elias’ strange lunch break in the Archives seeps through him. He’d wanted him to See, and _See_ Tim does. It’s heady and awful and entirely too much, but the damage is done. He looks at Elias and finds the man watching him the way he’d been smiling at Jon. Softer mouth, intense eyes. Tim did exactly what Elias expected.

He wants to be angry. Instead he just settles bonelessly into his chair.

 _You win this round,_ Tim’s thoughts are sluggish, exhausted. He almost thinks he hears a reply.

_You fought well._

“-well,” Elias is speaking and Tim jolts up. Jon isn’t looking at either of them and Elias sounds as though being in the office for twenty minutes has been emotionally suffering, “I suppose we should get back to work.”

“Yes, those poor unfortunate souls won’t catalogue their fates themselves.” Tim shoots Elias a crooked grin that’s mostly teeth when the man glances at him. Jon is still purposefully staring at his food, twirling his fork in the saffron rice like it’ll tell him the secrets of the Unknowing.

“Lucky for you that yours is set in stone,” Elias smiles back, the barest hint of teeth flashing like a warning. Tim is uneasily reminded of paper with eyes scrawled in the corners.

“Natural stone or poured cement?” He asks instead of cowing himself, and Jon makes a noise that’s both horrified and amused while very nearly looking up.

“I think that’s in the eye of the beholder.” It’s a bad pun in poor taste but Tim chokes a hysterical giggle down anyway. As Elias closes the door behind him he pushes that thought into Tim’s head again, the one where Jon is sitting on his desk and Tim is sucking him off. The worst part is that the real Jon chokes on his rice because Elias is a sadistic prick and Tim _knows_ he’s sent Jon that same image. Jon looks panicked, using a napkin to cover his coughing and the horrified redness his complexion is taking on. He’s staring at Tim with something Tim recognizes as Observance and it hits him the way Elias’ compulsions do.

“I mean, yeah, I would.” Tim says before he can stop himself.

“Oh.” Jon says. His voice is rough from either the choking or the situation and his gaze is unwavering in its intensity. It’s nearly as bad as Elias.

He’s going to Watch, Tim figures out, and the thought doesn’t bother him as much as it should as he walks around the side of the desk. Jon’s just looking at him, still sitting in his desk chair as Tim begins to remove the food and remaining papers from the surface.

“Elias is going to See everything.” Jon warns, even as he allows Tim to nudge him up onto the desk.

“Nothing he hasn’t seen already.” Jon doesn’t say anything to that, just looks something like exasperated. Tim’s gut twists in a much kinder way than it does around Elias. He ignores it and settles into Jon’s office chair.

“You’re not being...compelled, right?” Of course Jon would ask that, and Tim can’t really blame him. He holds Jon’s gaze as he starts to unbutton his trousers, unsurprised to find him getting hard already.

“No. Elias may be an utter bastard and this whole telepathic pornography thing definitely breaks about fifty sexual harassment policies, but the fact is that I want to suck your dick and I’m rather annoyed about it.” It’s probably one of the unsexiest things Tim could have said but Jon throws his head back with a laugh, which becomes a strangled moan as Tim leans down to take his cock in his mouth.

It’s different than sucking off Elias. Obviously, Tim notes, but he is nothing if not thorough and he catalogues every shiver that rolls through Jon’s hips. Jon’s thighs jerk apart when Tim rolls his tongue over the head, so he does it again and Jon claps a hand over his mouth to stop the moan. His other hand ends up in Tim’s hair, nothing like the false gentleness of Elias’ hand. Jon grips Tim carefully, shudderingly, and a little too hard on his scalp.

Part of him feels removed and that should be unnatural, but Tim’s given himself over to the Beholding for the moment, and accepting that means he’ll be observing outside of himself. It’s kind of hot. He experiences Jon’s cock sliding wetly between his lips at the same time he receives impressions of Jon’s expressions, like light imprinting itself inside Tim’s eyelids, and his own body shakes at the intensity of it.

“Fuck, Tim.” Jon swears, his voice a whisper and a moan and a raspy plea, and Tim takes him as far back into his throat as he can without gagging. That undoes Jon quickly and Tim quickly backs off to avoid choking on cum. It results in a mess on his chin and t-shirt, but it hardly matters when Jon yanks him up to kiss him. It’s dirty but not disgusting and Tim hardly spares Elias a thought, other than a mental middle finger to the man.

 _Voyeur,_ He thinks, and he lets himself be almost fond about it before Jon’s distracting him with fingers down his trousers. At least there are some perks to all this supernatural bullshit.

He gets the distinct feeling of laughter in return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alternate summary: everyone's got powers and everyone abuses them for sex except Jon, because he's a professional, but he still reaps the benefits.
> 
> also I am very grateful for this fandom's agreement that office sex is imperative.


	4. string

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is kind of a bonus bit. I’d written this up originally to be part of chapter 2, but then I shifted it to chapter 3 because it felt too early. And then I realized I was only writing it to explain why I’d chosen to title the damn fic ‘jacob’s ladder’ because I honestly fucking forgot it’s a biblical reference and not just a game of fingers and strings. So it's intended to be kind of ridiculous.

They’re eating Indian food again, this time in Elias’ office after hours. Tim’s annoyed that Elias has found the best way to keep Tim doing his damn job, even if the benefit of coming to work is a perhaps an unhealthily prolific sex life. Between Jon and Elias, Tim’s sure he’s going to die of violent murder or a freak desk sex accident. Either are likely, both occurring simultaneously even more so. He shovels food into his mouth and stares at Jon as the man suddenly straightens.

“Cat’s cradle strings, you know,” Jon waves a hand through the air as though that actually explains anything. “The game you play with your fingers, the unending twisting of the string. There were designs you could make. One was Jacob’s ladder. Not an easy one, requires a lot of hand coordination.”

“What, like knitting with your hands?” Tim asks, incredulous. His mind drifts briefly to thoughts of Jon’s supposed hand coordination. Strings lead to ropes lead to knots and Jon’s hands, and alright, Tim knows well enough by now when Elias’ presence is fucking with his mind. _Get a hobby._ He thinks viciously, and beside him Elias lets out a breath suspiciously like laughter.

“No, but I suppose it’s beside the point. I’m just speaking in metaphors, trying to wrap my head around it. You play cat’s cradle with another, but you can easily make the ladder alone. It’s just not much fun if you can’t show anybody your work. That’s what I’m trying to get at here. The witnesses aren’t necessary for the process but it makes the event far more satisfying.” Jon seems to have made up his mind about whatever the hell this tangent is about.

“I have no idea what this has to do with chicken tikka masala,” Tim groans.

“Jon, you’re looking too hard into Michael again.” Elias is patient, not patronising like he is with Tim whenever he goes off about something inane. “Stop thinking about it.”

Jon pauses and Tim wonders if Elias used a compulsion. It feels like it. The air is different, thicker. It could just be the tension at the mention of Michael.

“Who said I was talking about Michael?” Jon asks. The room absolutely freezes. Tim is staring wide eyed between Jon and Elias, unsure of what to do to diffuse the situation. Good on Jon, though, for defying Elias even in such a small capacity.

But of course, Elias just smiles.

“I’m quite terrible at cat’s cradle, myself. But if you’re looking to play with ropes that’s a different matter. I’m sure Tim will agree.”

“Oh, don’t you go dragging me into your power plays. Whatever sexual tension there is between the two of you, I want no part.” Except he wants to know, can’t force his legs out of his seat, and he knows that Jon and Elias know that too. Tim miserably presses his fingers to his temples. 

“I wonder.” Elias says softly. It’s Jon’s turn to look between the two of them, his gaze settling on Tim with nerve wracking intensity.

 _What the fuck is going on here,_ Tim’s thoughts are panicked, intrigued, and he can’t get the thought of Jon and ropes and Elias tying messy knots out of his head.

“I’m really not in the mood for weird sexual innuendo about children’s string theory or whatever, and witnesses being necessary for enjoyment, because it sounds like voyeurism and we all know Elias corned that market ages ago.” That turns the tables in a way Tim didn’t expect. Elias gives a startled bark of laughter and Jon’s eyes are impossibly wide, watching without _Seeing_. It’s the first completely human moment Tim’s felt in a while, despite everything about their situation and environment being anything but.

Tim almost feels normal. Then there’s a shallow wave over his mind, a distant tugging that recedes softly. It pushes again, harder, and it’s a bit nauseating so he closes his eyes. He recognizes it for what it is: the beholding, or the power of it that Elias and Jon hold, is doing that thing where it latches onto him. It’s like being roofied with acid; everything gets so much more intense, and that much harder to follow. Elias places a cool hand on his cheek. Tim knows it’s Elias because he can See even with his eyes shut. He can also pick threads of thought out of the air.

“I’m not going to ask why you have rope in your desk, Elias. But yes, fuck it. Whatever. I’m game for this shit if it’ll make the spins go away.”

“This isn’t what I intended with my metaphor,” Jon’s voice is shaking but not denying, and Tim grins with his eyes still closed.

“Knots and strings and witnesses, Jon. I think this fits exactly.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might??? Continue with this?? There's a lot to flesh out and it would need an actual plot that's not just Tim getting fucked every which way. But thank you all for reading, I haven't written fic in fucking years so it feels really good to jump into a fandom that's so open and lovely.


End file.
